


In Hope's Shadow

by ZaliaChimera



Category: Red vs. Blue, Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Star Wars Setting, Artificial Intelligence, Crossover, Family, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, Hugs, Jedi, Nightmares, Protectiveness, Rescue, Reverse Big Bang Challenge, RvB Reverse Big Bang, Science Fiction, Wordcount: 15.000-25.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-04 02:35:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12761319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZaliaChimera/pseuds/ZaliaChimera
Summary: A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away, Lavernius Tucker packs up his life and flees his home planet with his son to escape the lengthening shadow of the Empire’s influence. Along the way, he finds a bit more than he bargained for.Written for the RvB Reverse Big Bang, with artwork by the amazing adobewanphotobi on Tumblr





	In Hope's Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the RvB Reverse Big Bang, with artwork by the amazing Adobewanphotobi on Tumblr. Art for the fic can be found here
> 
> I hope you enjoy the fic!

“There you go buddy,” Tucker say as he tugs Junior’s hood up to cover as much of his face as he can. “You got all your things?”

Junior holds up a his stuffed toy and gives a questioning noise. It’s a ragged thing that he’s had since he was a baby, and the original acid blue colour has faded to a sort of grey-green by now. It’s shaped like one of the local species; six spindly limbs, a long tail, and a green furry ruff around the neck that almost obscures the button eyes. It’s ugly as sin in Tucker’s opinion, but Junior loves it. 

“Sure. He can come too. But you have to keep him safe okay? And make sure to hold my hand.”

Junior gives a solemn nod and clutches the toy to his chest.

“Good boy.”

Tucker slings his duffle bag over his shoulder, pats the blaster hidden underneath his heavy winter coat and picks up Junior’s smaller bag. He holds out his hand and Junior takes it. He squeezes his son’s fingers gently. 

“C’mon. It’ll be like an adventure right? Like your stories.”  
That gets a better reaction. The excitement shows on Junior’s face and he practically drags Tucker towards the door. Leaving home is sad, but adventures? Yeah, adventures are cool. 

Tucker takes a last look at their little home before he locks the door and turns away. He doesn’t look back.

The shuttle into town is empty at this time of night thankfully. Too early for people heading to work, too late to be carrying people from the mine and processing plant. Tucker finally lets himself relax, just a bit. Once the miners wouldn’t have been a problem. Even a couple of years ago it had been a small family owned affair where everyone knew each other and you could pick out an outsider on sight.

And then the Empire had come. Bought out the mine. It had been fine at first. They’d expanded it, brought in more jobs, but let it be run much as it always had. Until one day the previous owner had gone missing and he’d been replaced with a hard eyed man in a uniform who didn’t mingle with the workers.

Suddenly there were more and more people brought in, the mine expanded until it became an ugly rut in the landscape and the lights ran day and night. 

Junior nestles up against his side and Tucker wraps an arm around him, holding him close. He stares out of the window. It never quite gets full dark on Erus 3, so even in the middle of the night he can see the silhouettes of trees and hills give way to squat buildings then taller housing complexes and offices. And beyond that, looming larger and larger, the shining dome of the central transport hub.

The shuttle pulls in when the sky is turning the dusty purple of dawn. He gives Junior a gentle shake and the boy stirs, scrubbing at his eyes. 

“C’mon kiddo. Remember what I said? Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t wander off.”

Junior gives a solemn nod and Tucker smiles. “Good boy.”

He grabs their bags and together they leave the relative safety of the shuttle.

The space port is never really quiet. Tucker’s seen it at every time of day and there’s always a ship docking or departing, people rushing to catch shuttles to outlying towns, or ships to other parts of the solar system. It’s not the biggest port in the solar system so they’re mostly short distance transports to nearby planets, like the main hub on Erus 2. 

They’re the ones that Tucker is most familiar with. he’s done the hop a few times. This time he takes Junior’s hand in his own and turns away from the bright commuter ships and transports and heads towards were the long distance transports are. They’re mostly mining ships or cargo rather than real passenger vessels which suits him fine. Cargos ask fewer questions and are less nosy. Or at least they had been when he was younger and had gone planet hopping. Before Junior. Before the Empire had arrived.

The smaller ships are out towards the end of the port. Independent transports usually have less paperwork and oversight, and tighter overheads which make them more willing to take on passengers.

The crowds thicken the further they go, cargo crews loading up and squaddies reluctantly returning from shore leave. He squeezes Junior’s hand a little tighter, and keeps his head down as they head through the area. 

They finally reach the screen which shows a scrolling list of manifests and destinations. Tucker watches pauses the look through them, trying to decide which is the most likely to let him and Junior on board.

Junior tugs on his hand. “Just give me a second, Junior.”

The Empire’s just as entrenched in most of these places, if not more so. But maybe if he makes a quick transfer at one of them? It would give him more options.

Another tug at his hand. Tucker glances down at him. The kid is pointing off towards who knows what. Probably a food cart. It has been a while since they ate. 

“I just need to check this over, okay? Then we’ll get you a snack.”

He turns back to the manifests, puzzling over them, until Junior tugs at his hand again, and slips free. Tucker turns quickly to call him back, only to crash right into someone. It knocked the wind out of him, made him gasp for breath until he could finally look up (and up) at the person he’d walked into.

Oh shit.

The guy was tall, with grey armoured skin and a nasty look on his face. 

“Watch where you’re going,” they barked, their voice making each syllable of Galactic Basic sound like a snarl.

Tucker holds up his hands. “Sorry dude. No offence meant. Maybe you shouldn’t stand so close to a guy you aren’t intending to hook up with though.”

He regrets it immediately. The momentary surprise on the guy’s face does not make up for the rage that appears a moment later, or the hard shove that slams Tucker back against the screen hard enough to hurt.

“You’d better apologise for that,” the guy growls, leaning in close.

Tucker’s face scrunches up. “I think you’d better apologise for that breath.”

One day he will learn to keep his mouth shut. Apparently that is not today. 

He ducks the punch that follows; the guy telegraphs his moves obviously enough to see from space, but things could get nasty now that big ugly’s friends are starting to pay attention. This is not exactly keeping a low profile like Tucker had intended.

“Now come on, I’m sure we can talk this out,” he says, looking between them. Five, ten, oh hell he is fucked and he doesn’t know where Junior is and if a fight starts then security will get involved and that is the last thing he needs. He backs up a few steps putting some distance between them and edging towards his luggage but they don’t look like they’re going to stop.

Big ugly growls something that Tucker doesn’t understand, but he doesn’t have to to get the threat behind it. Nothing for it.

He lashes out, a punch catching the guy in the throat, hard enough to make big ugly double over and gasp for breath. Tucker doesn’t wait for the rest of them to start paying attention; he grabs his bags and bolts.

He ducks between ships and under ladders and around shipping containers, a circuitous route towards the very darkest recesses of the port. The ships are smaller here, more battered, cargo crates placed haphazardly. Unease prickles down the back of his neck. This really would be the perfect place to hide a body. Just dump him in a container and no-one would find him until his corpse started to reek.

When he finally stops, breath catching in his throat, chest heaving, he hears a noise. He turns, expecting to see security waiting for him. Fuck, they’ll ask him about where he’s going, about why he isn’t taking a normal transport. They might ask him about Junior.

But then there’s a familiar face and a small body hurling itself towards him almost hard enough to bowl him over. “Junior!” Tucker grabs the boy into his arms, sweeps him up and hugs him close. “Where did you get to buddy? I was worried!”

Junior gestures wildly over towards what has to be the darkest, most ominous corner of the dock. He wriggles until Tucker puts him down and then grabs his hand, squeezing it tightly. He gives a tug, insistent even if not enough to shift Tucker. “What is it?”

Another tug. Tucker grabs their bags and well, what else is he going to but let Junior drag him where he wants to go? He should probably wait things out here. The squaddies will be gone soon enough, he hopes, and they can get back to-

Oh damn, that is the ugliest ship Tucker has ever seen. Even with angry squaddies behind them, and possibly security bearing down on them, he has to pause to stare at the ship. It looks like it’s lost a fight with an asteroid field. It looks like it’s been dragged backwards through a solar flare and only managed to survive by crash landing.

There’s a figure sitting on the ramp leading into the cargo hold. He looks as grey as the ship. His hair is the kind of muddy shade that people get from too long spent on ships and not enough time in natural light, and he’s wearing steel grey from boots to collar.

He stands up as they approach and Tucker gets ready to grab Junior and bolt because he is almost certain that the guy is some kind of hired killer or bounty hunter with a ship like that and will probably drag them to security just for the reward.

So of course Junior starts trying to pull him over there.

“Junior!” Tucker hisses and digs his heels in. “We need to go, okay?”

But Junior shakes his head and oh fuck Grey Killer is coming towards them, ducking beneath the support struts and there’s something in the way he moves that reinforces the idea that no matter what he does, he’s dangerous.

Tucker reacts on instinct, and shoves Junior behind himself. At least he can get away if he needs to. Tucker’s drilled into him what he needs to do if anything happens to Tucker, and reinforced it ever since the Empire arrived; go find Tucker’s friend Church. Church will take care of him, get him off-planet, keep him safe.

“You’re Lavernius Tucker?” the Grey Killer. He stops a few feet away, arms folded over his chest.

“What does it matter to you?”

Shit, where did this guy learn his name? He hasn’t heard any tannoy announcements.

“I heard you’re in need of a ride off planet,” he says. “I can get you where you need to go.”

Tucker looks at him, looks at the ship and raises an eyebrow. “We’re fine,” he says sharply. he half turns to Junior, careful not to take his eyes off the other man. “C’mon buddy. We need to go.”

Junior shakes his head and before Tucker can grab his hand again, he’s darting off, running up to Grey Killer and tugging at his pants like he’s a friend who’s been there all Junior’s life.

Grey Killer looks down and then, the fuck is going on, Tucker swears he smiles. he prises Junior off his clothes with real gentleness and lets Junior latch onto his hand. When he looks back at Tucker, his expression has softened into something a bit confused and helpless.

“Junior told me your name,” he says. “He told me you want to get off-world. Somewhere safer.”

“Bullshit,” Tucker snaps, wariness coming back full force in the face of such a bald-faced lie. “Junior doesn’t talk.”

Sure, they communicate pretty well through gestures and expressions and their own sign language that even Church has only a very basic grasp of, but Junior doesn’t talk. Never has. Not even baby babble. Nothing beyond the occasional huff of impatience when Tucker isn’t getting something.

Grey Killer’s eyes widen for a moment like he’s genuinely surprised by that and Tucker takes a step forward. “Now get the fuck away from my kid!”

[Attention. Attention. This is an announcement. Due to a security breach, all passengers wishing to travel need to report to the main concourse to be registered for extra screening. I repeat-]

Tucker feels the blood drain from his face. No. This couldn’t be about him, could it? About the almost fight? 

Did it really matter? They’d check his documents. They’d ask questions. What if they asked people from the town, found out that he’d just vanished? What if they found Church?

They’d have to leave, try again and hope that they didn’t permanently tighten security.

Grey Killer steps closer, almost close enough to touch. Up close, Tucker can see that even his eyes are grey; he’s like a fucking ghost! There’s dark bags beneath them too, the look of someone perpetually exhausted.

“I can get you off-world,” he says, his voice low and very earnest. 

Tucker makes a noise of disbelief. “Why do you care?”

He doubts he can pay enough for a guy like this to not just turn them in anyway.

“You don’t really have a choice right now,” Grey Killer says. “You know what happens when the Empire declares this sort of announcement?”

“It takes an hour to get through the security check,” Tucker replies stubbornly. “Not that uncommon.”

“They’ll lock down the planet,” is the terse response. “Nothing in or out. This is an excuse to take over the port too. And once they’ve done that, there’ll be no way out without their permission, something I think you’re keen to avoid.”

His heart sinks and it feels like a block of ice has settled into the pit of his stomach. He’d seen what had happened at the mine back home. How they’d taken over slowly until they didn’t need to be slow anymore. Brought in more and more people until there were more of them in the town than natives and no-one knew exactly who they could trust.

How many ships here will take him now?

“And you just happen to be offering us a way off-world?” The scepticism is thick in Tucker’s voice.

Grey Killer shrugs, looks off to the side. He looks, Tucker thinks, a little sad. “I’ve got no love for the Empire.”

Of course not, Tucker thinks, because you’re obviously some sort of killer for hire. But it doesn’t mean he won’t take a paycheque from them if necessary.

“I’ll-“ 

The tannoy blares again.

[Attention. Attention. This is an announcement. Due to a security breach, the port is now on lockdown. All passengers report for extra screening. All security personnel please man positions.]

They can’t get out.

There’s a hand tugging at his. Tucker looks down at Junior squeezing his hand, eyes wide and earnest. His gaze flicks to Grey Killer who is watching him, a tiny frown of concern wrinkling his forehead.

What choice does Tucker have? 

“Get me and Junior out of here, and I’ll pay you whatever I have.”

Grey Killer opens his mouth to speak, but just nods instead. “Come on. Let’s go.”

He leads them to the ship and into the dingy cargo storage area and through the crates and boxes piled high with who knows what? The cargo bay door closes behind them, shutting away the light of the port. The whole place smells vaguely of ozone and metal, and Tucker keeps tight hold of Junior’s hand as they’re taken up a set of metal stairs and along a hallway of closed doors towards the bridge. 

It’s not a huge ship, but it’s still bigger than Tucker would have expected someone to be piloting alone. The hallways echo hollowly, like there should be a full crew and they just aren’t here right now. It makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

“How are you gonna get through the lockdown?” Tucker asks as Grey Killer straps himself into the pilot’s seats. Tucker settles more gingerly into the copilot’s seat, holding Junior on his lap. “You already have clearance?”

“Nope,” is the response.

“What the fuck? You said you could get us out!” Tucker snaps, his heart starting to race. Through the viewscreen, he can already see the port shutters starting to close. They’re slow; he’s heard it takes half an hour or more to close them so they don’t do it except in emergencies, but it won’t be long before they’re trapped and if this guy doesn’t have clearance…

“I can. Trust me.”

Tucker doesn’t, but the engine rumbles to life, lights flickering on around them, and a soft, electric hum filling the air.

“Disengage landing lock,” Grey Killer says. Tucker isn’t sure if he’s talking to him or the ship, but he doesn’t repeat it so Tucker assumes he’s got some fancy tech helping to run the thing, maybe a droid somewhere.

He feels the weird pressure pushing him into the seat as the ship begins to move, the adjustment preparing them for what it will be like out of the planet’s gravity.

Outside, an alarm begins to blare.

[Attention. Attention. Ship in W-365. You are not cleared for takeoff. Please disengage and return to dock.]

Grey Killer flicks a switch and the alarm and tannoy announcement are unceremoniously cut off. “That’s enough of that.”

They’re really doing this, Tucker thinks, hysteria bubbling up inside him. They’re breaking out of a spaceport. They’re probably going to crash into the shutters or get shot down. They are going to die and Tucker is an idiot.

The ship accelerates, dragging itself up to launch speed more smoothly than he’d imagined it would, and then the shuts are rapidly approaching and the gap left seems impossibly narrow. They’re going to crash. They’re going to smash into the shutters and die in a flaming heap of metal and it is all Tucker’s fault.

“Hold on.”

“Not much else I can do,” Tucker grinds out. He wraps his arms around Junior, holds him tight. Junior squirms. He’s a kid so of course he’s staring out of the view screen like it’s the most exciting thing ever and the ship isn’t going to be their coffin.

Like it’s an adventure.

Tucker closes his eyes, presses his face against the top of Junior’s head, and braces himself.

Death doesn’t come. There’s no crash of metal meeting metal. No scent of burning fuel. When Tucker opens his eyes and dares a glance up, there’s just blackness and stars.

“Wh- how?”

Grey Killer — Tucker should really find out his name if they’re travelling together — gives a small smile. “We’re out. Open space.”

That doesn’t explain how. He hadn’t even felt them clear atmosphere. There’s usually a shudder at least, the press of G-forces pushing you back into your seat. This time he’d felt nothing. What the hell kind of ship is he running?

Junior slips off his lap and grabs his hand again. He wants to explore. Tucker knows that expression well enough. 

Grey Killer seems to understand as well. He gestures back towards the main hallway. “Go ahead. There’s a couple of empty rooms. They’re basic but they’ll do. Anything dangerous is locked so feel free to poke around.”

“Right…” It seems too good to be true. Tucker doesn’t believe in karma and even if he did, he’s pretty sure he’s not a good enough person to have earned favour from some great celestial overseer, so he’s not sure how to take this stroke of good fortune.

Right. He doesn’t have a choice unless he wants to throw himself into space.

He lets Junior drag him to the door, but pauses there, and turns back. “Hey,” he says, and waits until the other man turns to him. “Thanks.”

It comes out smaller, sort of grudging. Grey Killer just nods. 

Tucker means to leave it at that, but something prompts him to open his mouth again. “What’s your name? You know mine. Seems fair I get to know yours.” 

Plus, calling him Grey Killer, even in his head, just seems sort of creepy and asking for trouble.

He looks surprised to be asked. “Oh. Uh- Wash. You can call me Wash.”

Tucker is almost certain that isn’t his real name. He’s not surprised. Most smugglers-slash-killers-for-hire aren’t gonna use real names. “Okay. Then thanks, Wash.”

—————

 

The excitement of the day finally takes its toll on Junior, and Tucker leaves him curled up on the top bunk in one of the cabins, clutching his stuffed monstrosity to his chest. Tucker could easily follow him into sleep. He can hardly believe that it’s been less than a day since they’d left their house on Erus 3. The very concept of it seems illusory, like his whole life on the planet was nothing but some fever dream.

That should probably tip him off that it’s time to sleep, but he needs to sort things out first. Now that the adrenaline has worn off, his brain is reminding him sharply that he’s stuck on a ship that’s seen better days with a guy who looks like he has also seen better days, with no idea where they’re actually heading and no means of escape.

Fuck, he is a dumbass.

He heads up to the bridge where Wash is sitting, staring out of the view screen as though there’s anything to see besides blackness and distant stars. Tucker pauses in the doorway and just looks at him. He doesn’t look like a serial killer like this. He just looks tired, distracted. Not that Tucker has a whole lot of experience with serial killers to go on.

He steps inside and clears his throat. “Uh- hey.”

Wash glances over his shoulder and offers a nod of greeting. “Lavernius.”

Tucker grimaces. “Yeah, just call me Tucker. Only my parents call me Lavernius and it’s weird.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He goes to sit down in the co-pilot’s seat, giving the controls a cursory look over. He knows the basics, but there’s a huge difference between a land-based shuttle, and an actual ship. 

“Did you need something?” Wash asks.

“I mean, I figured we should talk about where we’re actually heading to,” Tucker replies. “And payment,” he adds, more reluctantly.

Wash nods slowly. For a second, there’s a frown on his face before it smooths away into a careful blankness. “I can take you wherever you need to go barring the core worlds. If you want to go there, I can drop you off at a hub but you’ll be on your own.”

“No,” Tucker says quickly. “Not heading to the core worlds.” The centre of the Empire’s power is about the last place in the universe he wants to go to. 

“Good,” Wash says, and there’s something in his eyes, just for a second, but it’s gone too quickly for Tucker to really recognise what it is.

“And payment?”

Tucker braces himself. He’s at Wash’s mercy, him and junior. He’s been stashing money away for a while, but he’s seen the sorts of price gouging that goes on.

“Passage from Erus 3 to the nearest hub is a couple of thousand credits. Just pay that when we get there.”

Tucker stares at him, eyes narrowing. That seems suspiciously cheap. “What else?”

“Nothing else.”

“No. Come on. You must want something. I might come from a backwater but I’m not stupid. You think I didn’t check prices for passage before I came out?”

“You… want to pay more?” Wash sounds like he’s trying to solve a particularly difficult maths problem. 

“No but-“

“Oh for fuck’s sake, Wash. If the idiot wants to pay more, let him pay more!” 

The new voice comes with a flare of blue light, a small holographic figure appearing on the control panel. 

Tucker stares, sure that he’s hearing things. Holograms aren’t anything special but that voice…

“What are you staring at?” the hologram asks, crossing its arms over its chest. The projection is wearing armour, a little like the creepiest of the troops the Empire had stationed on Erus. 

He finds his voice finally, because that voice, he knows that voice and it shouldn’t be here and he doesn’t understand and- “Church? What the fuck?”

The hologram stares back for a moment before turning to Wash. “Great job, Washington. You broke him.”  
“Me?” Wash sits up straighter, looking incensed. “What the fuck did I do? You’re the one who was supposed to stay hidden, Epsilon.”

“No-“ Tucker begins, and then has to pause to figure out what he actually wants to say. He drags a hand through his hair, tugging slightly at it. “Church, what are you doing here?”

Wash and Epsilon share a look. The hologram gives a little shrug, dismissive, and it’s annoying as fuck in the exact same way that Church is.

“No fucking clue who Church is,” Epsilon says. “Guess you’re hearing things.”

Before Tucker can respond, Wash jumps in. “Epsilon is an AI. He helps to pilot the ship. Keeps things running.”

Epsilon snorts. “I run the ship. You’re just the pretty face because people prefer to deal with flesh rather than computers for some unfathomable reason.”

“With that personality who can blame them,” Tucker hears Wash mutter and he has to bite back a snort of a laugh. It’s more personality than he’s seen Wash exhibit since he got on the ship. At least he has a sense of humour. “Epsilon, log off.”

“But-“

“I said log off. just for now.”

Epsilon lingers for a moment, and it’s obvious that he’s doing it just to prove that he is taking it as a suggestion rather than an order, before the hologram flickers out and the cabin is left in silence.

Wash sighs and slumps down in his chair. “I’m sorry about him. He’s a little… quirky.”

“One way of putting it,” Tucker says. He’s not sure what to make of him. “He does sound… and act, a lot like a guy I know. Back on Erus.” Disturbingly similar.

“Oh,” is the flat response. “There’s a lot of people in the galaxy. There’s bound to be a programmed combination that matches anyone.”

Tucker stares at him, trying to figure out how to react. Thinking logically, he knows it’s not impossible. Church does a lot of tech stuff and not all of it is legal. So he supposes it’s not impossible that he’d encounter someone with something Church had created. He has more than enough ego to copy his personality to an AI and make everyone else suffer spending time with him. It just seems like a hell of a coincidence.

Finally he shakes his head. “I don’t care. As long as you get me where I need to go, I don’t care how much of an asshole AI you have. And I’ll pay you double what you asked if you keep your mouth shut about me and Junior.”

He’ll pay more anyway. It might buy him a little more privacy.

“Deal,” Wash says. “It’s three days to the nearest hub. I have to stop off there to drop off some cargo. Once we get there, it’s up to you if you want to continue or stay there.”

It’s what he’d expected, but somehow feels like Wash is drawing away, putting on a mask so that Tucker won’t think he’s human. It’s… weird.

Not that he cares. It’s Junior who matters. But Tucker’s always had a knack for meeting people and making friends. He’d even sort of managed it with Church and Church hates everyone. But let Tucker hang out and got drinks with him and only cursed him a little bit.

“That sounds good,” Tucker says instead of voicing his thoughts. Three days gives him time to look at maps and actually figure out a plan beyond ‘get the hell off-world’. “You’re taking this pretty well,” he says after a moment. “I mean, just taking on a passenger like that. You didn’t even ask to look at my documents. I could be a big-time criminal for all you know.”

Wash shrugs. He leans forward to tap at a couple of buttons, but Tucker is almost certain he’s only doing that to give himself something to do with his hands. 

“If you were big-time you’d have a better evacuation plan,” he says. There’s a hint of a smile curling his lips. 

“Wow. I don’t know whether I should feel insulted.”

Wash snorts softly. “You might have guessed, considering I ran a lockdown for you, but I’m not running the most legal and approved of operations.”

“I mean, the thought had crossed my mind,” Tucker says, and then he grimaces. “Wait, this isn’t the moment when you go ‘now, that you know my secret, I can’t let you live’, is it? Because you volunteered that information! I don’t think it’s fair to dismember me when I didn’t even ask. Oh god, those crates aren’t filled with bodies are they?”

“What? No!” Wash looks alarmed at that. “No bodies. And-“

He catches sight of Tucker’s smirk and the alarm fades into a scowl. “You’re joking.”

“Yeah I am. You don’t- You don’t pick someone up just to murder them. Probably.”

“I’m not going to murder you, Tucker.”

Tucker lets out a breath. “Okay. Good.” Wait. “And that’s another thing! How the hell did you find out my name?”

Because that’s the thing that’s been niggling at his mind since they got here. Tucker hadn’t really marked up his bags. There was no way this guy should have known.

The silence grows between them, stretching out to near snapping point before Wash finally responds. 

“I wasn’t lying when I said that Junior told me.

“And I told you that wasn’t possible,” Tucker says, his voice going hard. “He doesn’t talk. I don’t know if it’s the- the mixed genetics, or trauma or- or what, but he’s never talked. He can’t write yet either.” Although he’s learning how to read pretty well. Tucker is proud of him for that.

Wash presses his lips together into a thin line for a moment before he lets out a slow breath. “Tucker. Why were you running away from Erus?”

“That’s none of your business. Answer my question!” What is with this ominous bullshit?

“Tucker… was it because of Junior?”

He feels his blood turn to ice. How does he know? He hasn’t treated Junior any differently to normal, and most people he’s met just think Junior is a sweet but odd kid. Nothing special. Nothing worth paying attention to.

Is this it? The part where Wash drags out the big guns and demands more than Tucker can pay to keep him from turning them in? Or will he just hand them over to the Empire first chance he gets? Tucker doesn’t think there can be a bounty on them yet. Not so soon. He’s been so careful. Church has done everything he can to cover their tracks; the tickets were bought in his name.

Worst of all, Tucker knows that his silence has damned him. If it wasn’t true, he would have just laughed it off, but when he tries now, he just sounds lame and strained and scared.

“You- whatever you want, I’ll give it to you. Just don’t hurt Junior. He’s just a kid.”

Wash leans forward and Tucker half expects him to draw a gun right there and then, or open communications and turn them in. But he doesn’t. He just gives Tucker a concerned look, and there’s something in his eyes, something concerned and sympathetic.

“I’m not going to hurt him,” Wash says firmly. “Or you. I swear.” He looks nervous, Tucker thinks, and when he looks back at Tucker, there’s something conspiratorial in the way that he leans in. “I swear on the Force.”

Tucker feels as though he’s been punched. That short sentence knocks the breath out of him, makes his heart pound and his head swim. He thinks, for one sickening moment, that he might pass out, and wouldn’t that be a thing, passing out in front of someone as shady as Wash.

He manages to suck some air into his burning lungs. His voice, when he opens his mouth to reply, comes out strangled. “That- that’s just stories.”

He should have learned to lie better as a kid. What had his parents been thinking, teaching him honesty? 

Probably the same thing they’d been thinking when they explained the purges to him, when they’d told him not to speak to any of the soldiers who sometimes came through, or the droids they brought with them, no matter how cool they looked. Erus was enough of a backwater to avoid the worst of things, but it also meant that news arrived slow and out of date, when it wasn’t straight-up propaganda. 

The look Wash gives him is flat and completely disbelieving. Fuck. He’d hoped maybe choking that out would, if not convince him he didn’t know anything, convince him that he was toeing the Imperial line. And now there’s a second, equally chilling option; what if Wash works for the Empire itself and wants evidence, wants him to admit things willingly so they can save time on the nasty interrogation business.

“Junior found me,” Wash says, and he sounds deadly serious. “He found me and he told me your name. Just not- he didn’t speak. And that’s why you’re running isn’t it? The purge has finally reached Erus and you have to leave before the Empire finds him.” 

His mouth feels dry, like it’s been stuffed with cotton wool. He flicks his tongue out over his lips, hands clenching then relaxing. “They said there were gonna be people coming in to oversee the schools,” he says finally, the words falling heavily from his mouth. “They already had security in town. They said it was just to make sure everything was functioning okay, bringing them in line with imperial policy.” He can’t hide the scorn, the anger that’s been simmering beneath the surface ever since the government came under direct control. “But I knew… Junior’s just a kid. He’s never done anything wrong. But they’d take him away and I don’t know what would happen to him if they found out.”

It’s hard to admit. He’s kept the words swallowed down, hidden beneath his tongue and behind his teeth for so long, wondering every day if this is it, if this is when Junior does something innocently that’s seen by the wrong people, or if it’s going to be him who spills in a moment of distraction.

All he knows is that he can’t keep Junior safe, not forever. Not on his own.

“I grew up on Coruscant,” Wash says quietly. “They’d like to pretend that a lot of things never existed. It’s easier on the outer worlds. They never had much contact with people who knew, really knew, about the Force. But there are people who still remember.”

“And you're one of them?” Tucker asks. He tries not to sound hopeful. That’s a risk. Oh, who is he kidding? He’s already fucked.

He just doesn’t want to be alone.

Wash nods. His voice is curiously flat. “Yeah. I remember.”

“You could make a lot of money, turning us in,” Tucker says. It’s a stupid thing to say. But he needs it out there now, with this stranger who knows more than anyone else except Church.

“He could make a lot of money doing pretty much anything else,” Epsilon interrupts. His hologram doesn’t appear, but his voice comes through the speakers. “He’s been promising me a better processor for at least a year.”

“I thought I told you to log off, Epsilon,” Wash hisses, and Tucker can hear the unspoken ‘you’re embarrassing me’ tacked onto the end.

“Oh. Is that what you said?” Epsilon replies, utterly without remorse.

Wash glares at the ship’s dashboard. Tucker isn’t sure if Epsilon can see it, but he’s sure that he gets the idea. It sounds like a well worn argument. 

“I came to tell you,” Epsilon continues, “that your kid is awake.”

“You were checking on Junior?”

“I check on everyone. Have to make sure no-one tries to burn the place down. Have to say, you’re more polite than most of the passengers we’ve had.”

“Thanks. I think,” Tucker says.

“Don’t flatter yourself. The bar is set really low. The last group Wash brought on board were mercenaries and I nearly had to airlock the whole bunch of them.”

“Well- Yeah, I will try not to give you an excuse.”

“He’s not going to airlock you,” Wash says firmly.

“Aw c’mon. You never let me have any fun.” Tucker can hear the sulk in Epsilon’s voice.

“I’ll go check on Junior,” he says. “He doesn’t like waking up on his own.”

He’s had nightmares more than once, and it’s worse somehow that he can’t tell Tucker what they’re about. There’s no way to lance the wound. No way for Tucker to reassure him if he doesn’t know what the dreams are about.

“Do that,” Wash says. “I’ll call you when food is ready.”

—————

Junior is sitting up on the top bunk when Tucker returns, stuffed beast hugged to his chest. He’s staring around the room with dark eyes, but he hasn’t started crying yet, and he doesn’t look scared. He looks curious more than anything.

“Hey buddy. You doing okay?” Tucker asks. Junior’s clothes are all rumpled; shouldn’t have let him sleep in them. He’ll have to as Wash if he can do laundry somewhere. He assumes there’s a machine. Wash doesn’t stink, not that he can tell anyway. Not that he’s been getting close enough to really give him a sniff.

Junior nods and moves to carefully climb down the ladder. Tucker scoops him off the second to last rung. He’ll be getting too big to do that to soon, so Tucker intends to savour it while he can, even if Junior scowls briefly, gives a roll of his eyes that hints at the teenager he’ll eventually become. But that’s a long way away right now.

“You want to explore?” Tucker asks. “Wash says that he’ll call us when it’s time for food. I dunno what it’ll be, but I hope it’s soon. I’m starving.”

He rubs his stomach and that brings a smile to Junior’s face. He gives a solemn nod and rubs his own belly. 

“That’s my boy. You’re gonna grow up big and strong and a real ladykiller one day.”

There’s another of those ‘oh god you’re so embarrassing’ looks, which just makes Tucker smile more widely and he carries Tucker out of the room. 

He sets him down once they’re outside and Junior dashes off almost immediately. Tucker has to jog to catch up with him. He doesn’t blame him. he’s been good as gold the last few days while Tucker’s been low-key panicking and keeping him in the house, just in case. He’s taken leaving Erus surprisingly well too. He’s a smart kid, he gets the dangers. He hadn’t argued, hadn’t sulked when Tucker had explained. Just nodded in that solemn way of his and gone to try to stuff every toy he owned in the little suitcase Tucker had got him for vacations. 

A cargo bay is probably not the best place to let a kid run wild, but there’s not a whole lot of options right now. Tucker sits on the metal steps leading to the gangway so that he can watch Junior race around, burning off some of that energy. Hopefully he’ll exhaust himself enough that he’ll still get to sleep tonight, because Tucker is not going to last and no matter what Wash has said, Tucker isn’t entirely comfortable leaving Junior unwatched around him.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a flicker of blue. He turns to face the view screen he’d seen it on.  
“Epsilon?”

There’s a definite sigh, although that could still be due to something in the engine, and then Epsilon’s hologram appears in front of him. “He’s not going to break, anything, right?”

“Everything’s in metal crates. If he can break those I think you’ve got bigger things to worry about.” A kid with that sort of strength in an enclosed environment would probably the a recipe for disaster.

“Just… watch him. There’s some sensitive stuff in those.”

“Does it really matter to you? Not like you have to pay for food.” Right? Did droids need money for anything? Most of the droids who worked around town in Erus were dumb, designed to do one thing and not a whole lot else. Epsilon is a whole different thing, like some of the advanced droids Tucker had seen when he was travelling.

“Well I don’t want to be stuck on a dead ship. Upkeep costs money. And Wash needs to eat because he is a gross flesh being and I’m told that is kind of a requirement.”

“It definitely helps, yeah. Do you have a point or are you here just to bitch?”

“Ugh, you’re as bad as Wash. Food is ready. Hope you’re not picky or expecting five star cuisine.”

Tucker snorts softly. “I come from an outer world backwater. You think I know what five star cuisine looks like?”

“Good point. Just thought I’d warn you.”

Tucker stands and stretches, then rubs his eyes. He is gonna crash hard when he gets chance. He needs a shower too or he’ll be the one smelling gross. For a moment, he thinks longingly of the bathroom in the little house on Erus. It had been one thing that he’d splashed out on for himself. Piping hot water pumped up and heated by the geothermal energy underground, the huge tub for soaking, and the shower which was nearly as good as a massage after a hard day.

He wonders if their absence has been noticed yet. He wonders if everyone is safe, or if-

No, there’s no point thinking about that. He can’t change things now. The mine’s too valuable for the Empire to take that much revenge for Tucker and Junior leaving. There’s no evidence beyond paranoia that they were even on the Empire’s radar.

“Junior!” he calls. “C’mon kiddo. Time for dinner!”

Junior is back with him in a second, clinging to his hand and practically dragging him along. Maybe he does have to worry about super strength after all.

The kitchen area is bigger than he expected for a ship of this size with a crew of one, but if it takes on passengers then he supposes it’s necessary. There’s a long metal table and benches and in the kitchen itself Wash is moving around, opening packets and pulling out some plates.

He nudges Junior to go sit down, and walks over to the counter. “So what is it going to be, chef? Epsilon was promising me a real feast.”

From the speakers emanates an annoyed ‘I did not!’ which verges on a screech. 

Wash turns around and pushes a plate towards him. “There you go. It travels well, but it’s not the most interesting food around.”

I looks like a kind of stew, probably made from a dehydrated meal block. There’s a small reddish block set on the side of the plate, and a bowl of hot water to empty it into. “Fruit compote,” Wash explains when he catches him staring. “Fruit goes bad quickly and there’s just me on board usually so I don’t bother getting fresh.”

Wash hands over a second plate. This one has a larger block of compote. “For Junior,” Wash says. “He’ll probably like that better than the stew. There’s bread in the box on the table.”

It’s definitely more than Tucker had expected. He’d been mostly planning to take a pre-made meal back to their room, one of the ones where you heat it all together. But he gets the impression that Wash is enjoying this. Or at least, enjoying having a little company. 

“Thanks,” Tucker says. He picks up the plates and bowls and takes them over to the table, setting out Junior’s first, and reaching for the bread box. Oh, now that’s a taste of home! In there is a loaf of the rusty orange bread that comes from Erus. It looks like the kind that Tucker would pick up from the local bakery. Wash must have got it just before they left because it’s still soft, with a thick crust. 

Tucker takes a bite of it before anything else. It has that familiar tangy taste, and Tucker’s throat closes up for a moment, his eyes pricking with heat. 

He’s left. He’s left Erus, and this time it’s not for a holiday, for a bout of youthful exploration. This time it’s for good and He might never taste bread like this again.

A tug on his hand. He looks down at Junior, who’s staring up at him with wide eyes and concern. He’s always good at that. He knows when Tucker is unhappy, even when he tries to hide it. It’s not always a good thing. What parent wants their kid to know when they’re homesick as fuck?

He forces a smile. “It’s nothing, Junior. You should eat your food. Wash made it special for us.”

Junior looks delighted at that prospect, his face lighting up. He sits down again and picks up his spoon to start shovelling food into his mouth. 

“Careful! Don’t want you to choke,” Tucker says, but he has to admit, his stomach is growling and it smells about as good as rehydrated proteins can.

He sits down next to Junior and begins eating. The taste is flat, a bit odd after the fresh food on Erus, like someone mixed sawdust in with stew. He might have to get used to it if this is going to be his life from now on, travelling from planet to planet, hiding and running.

That’s a lonely thought. Tucker stuffs a bite of bread into his mouth, hoping that he can swallow down the feelings along with it. It half works. He can eat the rest of the food without choking. At least Junior doesn’t seem to have the same problem. He’s always got an appetite, half the plate gone already.  
Perhaps he’s a little too enthusiastic, because a moment later the spoon catches on the edge of the plate and goes flying halfway across the room. Tucker sighs and stands up to go retrieve it. “Junior, be a little more careful okay?”

He moves to fetch it, but just as his fingers are about to close around the spoon, it moves. It isn’t just a little nudge either, the kind he could dismiss as having knocked it accidentally. Oh no, the spoon slides right across the ground towards Junior. Tucker looks up sharply, his eyes widening. 

“Junior!” he hisses. Because this is more, this is different, this is something he can’t pass off as Junior just being a little odd, being able to pick up thoughts and feelings. That can be passed off as empathy and mixed genetics and Tucker being over protective.

But this- there’s no explanation for this.

Junior grins at him though and then the spoon raises off the ground and goes back to his hand. He looks so proud of himself, and Tucker would be proud too because it’s amazing! It’s something he is so impressed by, and he wants to do nothing but encourage him. But he can’t, and when he looks over at Wash, Wash is watching, his eyes narrowed.

Junior is staring at them now. He’s trying to hide it, and as soon as Tucker catches his eye he stares back down at his plate, but it’s too late. Tucker knows he’s heard and is paying attention, and it’s him who’s going to get bugged about it for the rest of forever now.

Tucker scrubs his hand over his face and sits back down, finishing off his food and cleaning the plate off with the bread. Wash doesn’t say anything, and after a moment, the bustle in the kitchen resumes. Tucker doesn’t look over, and when Junior is done, he wipes his face off and hustles him back to their bunk before anyone can say anything.

“You’ve got to be more careful, okay?” He tells Junior while he helps him pull on his pyjamas. They’re Junior’s favourite pair; blue and purple with a pattern of tiny lizards all over them. 

The look Junior gives him is sour. Tucker puts his hands on his hips and looks back, meeting Junior’s gaze sternly. “No. I mean it. You can’t risk that kind of thing, okay? It’s dangerous? You remember I said this was an adventure?”

Junior gives a solemn nod. 

“Yeah, well, in adventures, sometimes it gets dangerous yeah? And the good guys have to hide. We have to hide, okay, Junior?”

He looks so sad when Tucker says that, and for a moment Tucker feels like the world’s worst parent. But no, he has to do this. He has to keep Junior safe.

He pats Junior’s head anyway, and tucks him into bed. The running around earlier must have worn him out; he’s already half asleep now he isn’t hungry. 

Tucker stays until he stops fidgeting, and his breathing levels out and he doesn’t complain when Tucker switches off the light and steps outside.

He almost walks right into Wash who’s standing there. Tucker jumps back, pressing himself back against the door. “Fuck, don’t do that! What do you want?”

“I see you weren’t kidding, when you said they’d try to find him,” Wash says quietly. “He’s Force sensitive.”

“He’s just a kid,” Tucker says. 

“A strong kid,” is Wash’s response. “He’ll just get stronger as he gets older.”

“We can’t talk about this here,” Tucker says. “He might wake up.”

He doesn’t want to talk about it at all.

“I have caf in the mess. Good stuff.”

Tucker eyes him for a moment before nodding. “Well, if you have caf…”

They end up back in the kitchen, Tucker leaning agains the counter while Wash makes a drink for them. He has a proper pot for the caf, and keeps the beans in a sealed jar. They smell amazing, obviously the good, expensive stuff that rarely makes its way as far as Erus. 

“It’s a small luxury,” Wash says as he hands over a steaming mug. “I get some whenever I go near the centre.”

“You do that often?” Tucker asks.

Wash shrugs. “Not really. It’s not exactly safe for someone like me. I said I grew up on Coruscant?”

Tucker nods. He remembers. 

“I didn’t exactly leave under the best circumstances.”

“The Empire.” He doesn’t need to ask.

“The Empire,” Wash agrees. “And since I’m now a criminal… even I don’t love can that much.”

“That is a bald faced lie and you know it Washington,” is Epsilon’s helpful interruption. “What about that time you killed a man because he spilled your caf?”

Wash is stony-faced. “I’d been awake for five days and he was trying to mug me, Epsilon.”

Epsilon makes a noise of disbelief and they lapse into silence.

Finally Wash sets aside his mug. Tucker clings to his as though it’s a lifeline. One solid thing in an uncertain universe.

“You were right to run,” Wash says, and this time it’s Tucker’s turn to sound incredulous.

“Well yeah. I didn’t do it for fun and the thrilling menu.”

“Junior is Force sensitive. And strong. It takes a lot to do something like that without training and with that amount of precision.”

“And I suppose you’re some kind of expert, Mr. Shoots People Over Caf?” Tucker says. He feels torn between being proud of Junior, and scared witless.

“I told you, I grew up on Coruscant. I was old enough to see stuff. To see the Jedi.”

It’s a name that catches Tucker’s breath in his throat. A name that he’s heard as stories, legends, something mythical even before the Empire took over. The kind of mythical that makes it really easy to believe that maybe they never existed at all, just overblown stories rather than real people. His fingers tighten around the mug and he takes a sip of caf while he gathers himself and recovers from the thrill of electricity that shivers down his spine. 

“Erus never had people like that,” he says when he can speak again. he can’t quite bring himself to say the word. “Most people think it’s just stories. People forget pretty quickly. The ones who do still believe think they’re traitors.”

Wash makes a face, his lips twisting into a grimace. “The Empire did a thorough job. Have to say, the Jedi Order did half the work themselves on that though, being all high and mighty and above normal people.”

“You sound like you know from experience.”

Wash shrugs. “They had their council on Coruscant. Probably had the highest population of Jedi in the galaxy. If you lived there, you heard things.”

“And you picked up enough to know Junior is… Junior.”

“Doesn’t take an expert. He’s strong. Most people who are Force sensitive just have a little bit. They get lucky hunches, or have a real knack with people. They don’t even notice it. Junior would have been picked up by the Jedi in no time if it was before.”

“Well, I have to say I’m pretty glad he wasn’t,” Tucker says, “since they’re all dead.” And because he wouldn’t have wanted to give Junior up. 

There’s a pained look on Wash’s face, just for a moment, something deep and dark and sad. it’s gone after a second; most people would have missed it, but Tucker has always been good at picking up on that stuff. 

Wash shakes his head then. “Small mercies.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Tucker asks. Even if Wash didn’t want to turn them in, and Tucker thinks that part is true at least, he doesn’t have to do anything more than look the other way. 

He’s silent for a long moment. Tucker almost gives up by the time he does respond. “Like you said, he’s a kid. He doesn’t deserve whatever the Empire would do to him.”

That’s like a chunk of lead in his stomach, bringing the reason for their flight right back into full focus. “Church, that’s my friend, the one who Epsilon sounds like, said he heard stories about other planets. Kids getting taken away if they had a… knack.” 

Force sensitive, Wash had called it. 

“It happens,” Wash says. “The Empire wants to get rid of any traces of the Jedi. Wipe out your enemies and they can’t come back and take you out.”

The thought of taking out the Galactic Empire seems laughable. Maybe a few years ago there’d been talk of rebellion, and some of the hotter headed young men in town had gone off to fight, swayed by ideas of glory. None of them had come home. In the end, it was just easier to keep your head down and survive. Things weren’t that bad on Erus.

“Good thing I left then. I can’t let them take Junior. They’ll kill him.” He chews on his lip for a moment and then looks up to meet Wash’s eyes. “Is there anywhere safe? Even if you can’t take me there. I can find it myself and be out of your hair.”

There must be somewhere, some outer planet too resource poor or inaccessible for the Empire to pay much attention to. He suddenly wishes that he’d paid more attention in school. Or quizzed Church on more than just getting off world.

“I’ve heard of a few places where Imperial influence is lower,” Wash says, “but a lot of those places are pits. Places where people like me go to pick up jobs. Not the kind of place where someone with a kid goes.”

“You mean I don’t look like some kind of master criminal?” Tucker tries to inject some levity into the conversation. He isn’t sure it works.

“I think you look like someone who loves his son very much and shouldn’t have to do this.” It comes out surprisingly sincere. Enough hat Tucker isn’t entirely sure what to make of it, so he just nods.

“He’s all I’ve got.” Sure, there’s been a sort of life on Erus. He’d had work, and guys he met up with for drinks and darts on days off. But Junior was what gave it meaning.

Wash sighs. He leans back in his chair, a pensive look on his face, and stares up at the ceiling. “Epsilon,” he says.

“What?” is Epsilon’s prickly response. “This ship doesn’t fly itself you know.”

“I need you to do something.”

“What a surprise. When do you ever want to speak me with when you don’t want something?”

“Epsilon shut up for a minute. I need you to get some information for me. Find somewhere.”

There’s silence for a moment, and when Epsilon responds, it’s with a note of definite curiosity. “You want me to find a safe planet for Dad of the Year and his kid?”

“Think you can do it?”

“I mean, it’s not gonna be easy. There’s all sorts of places I’ll have to check. Systems to hack. Covering my tracks so that we don’t get shot out of the sky the next time we go near an inhabited planet.”

“I mean, if you can’t do it,” Wash begins, “I can always contact Delta.”

“I didn’t say that!” Epsilon snaps. “Fuck Delta. He’ll just give you a list of probabilities and would recommend a lava pit as somewhere safe just because it lacks Stormtroopers.”

“I don’t know,” Wash says. Tucker can see the smile that crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “You’re complaining an awful lot. Thought you might have cold feet.”

“I can do it,” Epsilon says firmly. “It will just take time if you don’t want me to half-ass the job.”

“Well, if you’re sure it’s not too much for you-“

“You just wait. You won’t know what’s fucking hit you, Washington.”

The static that had been in the air dissipates, and Wash turns back to Tucker. “We’ll find somewhere. Can’t promise it’ll be perfect, but it should be better than staying where you were.”

Tucker can only stare for a moment. He isn’t sure what god he must have pleased somewhere in history, or maybe it’s like his parents had told him once, and the will of the Force was looking out for him. “Thank you.” It feels utterly inadequate. “ I really can pay you more or- or something, to make up for this.”

“Wash shakes his head and holds up a hand to stop him. “I told you, what you’re paying is fine. I’m not changing the cost for something that Epsilon can run as a side-process in his downtime.”

“Yeah but- you don’t know me. I’m just some stranger you picked up.”

“Strangers are people too,” Wash replies. There’s a flippant note to his voice which sounds forced to Tucker’s ears. “Besides,” Wash adds more quietly, “I was there on Coruscant when the Jedi fell. I saw what happened. I don’t want to see that happen again.”

He sounds strange. Tucker can’t quite figure out why. There’s sadness in his voice, but more than that, deeper somehow. Personal. He’s probably imagining things. 

“And Junior’s a good kid,” Wash continues, brightening. “He deserves to feel safe, to have a life.”

Maybe it should ring hollow from a stranger, but there’s nothing but sincerity in what Wash says.

Wash looks away after a moment, clears his throat and looks painfully awkward. It’s a relief honestly, because Tucker sure as hell feels awkward. 

“Anyway,” Wash says, “I should- it’s late. You should probably sleep before you need stronger caf.”

“Yeah. That’s a good idea. Junior might be wondering where I’ve got to.”

“Right. Goodnight Tucker.”

Wash slips off, moving silently. It’s a little eerie now that Tucker has noticed it. But he feels safer, like admitting everything and hearing Wash talk has eased a knot of anxiety inside him.

He takes the empty mug over to the counter to be washed and then heads back to the room. Junior is still fast asleep when Tucker gets there, as peaceful as though they were back at home. He’s kicked the covers off, and Tucker pulls them back over him before starting to strip down to his underwear.

He lies down on the narrow bunk, and drags the thin blanket over himself like a shield. He can hear Junior’s soft breathing from the bunk above, and he lets it lull him to sleep. He dreams that night, of monsters in white armour, and men with swords that glow.

—————

 

Junior’s bunk is empty when Tucker gets up.

A sharp spike of panic jolts through him at the site of the empty bed, the covers rumpled as though Junior had left in a hurry. He grabs his shirt and pants and drags them on, doesn’t bother with his shoes, and rushes out of the door towards the mess.

“Wash! Epsilon!” he calls, hoping one will answer him. Unless they took Junior. What if all those pretty words from Wash were just words? He had been so stupid to trust a stranger! He should never have risked Junior like that and-

Junior is sitting at one end of the table in the kitchen area, beaming widely as a spoon zooms across the table towards him. Wash is standing at the other end, grinning just as wide, a whole selection of cutlery in his hand and obviously the origin of the one that Junior is picking up. 

Tucker almost collapses in relief, and then that feeling slides into shock and embarrassment and concern before settling back on relief. “Junior!” he says, stepping into the room. “You scared the shit out of me!”

His son gives him a wide-eyed look, worry on his face, scrunching up like he’s going to cry and Tucker feels like the world’s biggest monster. He forgets how young he is sometimes. Junior is usually so smart, so mature for his age and he’s been taking this so well!

Tucker sighs and goes up to him, dragging him into a hug which Junior returns with fingers that dig into his shoulders. “It’s okay. I’m sorry kiddo. I was just worried when you weren’t there.”

“That’s my fault, sorry,” Wash says. Tucker glances over at him, raising an eyebrow in question. “He was wandering around. I brought him here so he wouldn’t wake you.”

“Oh. That- that’s okay,” Tucker says. It seems stupid now that he was so worried. It’s a small ship. Where would Junior really go? And if Wash was going to turn them in, he’d have an easier time just handing them over at the nearest port rather than trying to imprison them on the ship. “What were you guys doing?”

Wash scrubs a hand through his hair and looks thoroughly awkward. “I thought it would help if Junior got some practice in controlling what he can do. Cutlery races seemed a safe way of doing that.”

He stares at Wash for a moment, suspicious, although for different reasons now than thinking that Wash might turn them in. The awkwardness seems to grow. “Right. Just a hunch huh? A bright idea.”

“Well I wasn’t going to let him try levitating grenades or anything breakable,” Wash replies. The dismissal seems entirely too blasé, and Tucker would love to call him out on it, but Junior is tugging at his shirt and brandishing the spoon with such a look of pride that Tucker can’t do anything but fall into line. His kid has him wrapped around his little finger. If Tucker is lucky, he’ll never realise it.

“Okay buddy. Why don’t you show me?”

Junior beams. He sets the spoon down at one end of the table and returns to Tuckers side. He holds out his hand towards it. Nothing happens at first. Junior’s face twists into an expression of absolute concentration, more serious than Tucker has ever seen him, even during the most difficult nights of homework. 

He opens his mouth to call it off; maybe being watched is throwing him off, and the last thing Tucker wants to do is make him nervous. But then, oh then, he sees it. The spoon shifts on the table, just a little at first, nudging an inch across the table, then faster and faster, the hairs on the back of Tucker’s neck standing on end until finally the spoon shoots up away from the surface and slots neatly into Junior’s hand.

He’s stunned into silence. His mouth is dry. It’s one thing to see the tail end of it, to catch Junior in the act, but there’s something about seeing it from start to end, seeing Junior’s concentration, the focus on his face. It takes it from magic and trickery into something solidly, viscerally real.

_Dad?_

He thinks he hears a whisper, but that’s ridiculous. Junior is staring up at him, his expression of triumph crumpling in the face of Tucker’s reaction.

Tucker shakes it off and smiles at his son, reaches out to ruffle his hair. “That’s amazing, Junior! I’m so proud of you.”

Junior brightens almost instantly and he seems to take that as a cue to show off. The spoon must fly across the table two or three times more before Wash comes over to him and stands at his shoulder.

“He’s picked it up quickly.”

“It’s incredible,” Tucker says quietly. He applauds politely when Junior catches the spoon again. He hasn’t seen his kid this happy in months if he’s honest, what with all the hiding and warnings. But still, it makes him uneasy. “I just worry. He can’t use this in public. He’ll have to keep hiding it and it might have been better if he never knew rather than keep pretending.” Kids want to show off, kids want to be special, and Tucker never wants Junior to feel that he isn’t but he also wants Junior to be safe.

“It wouldn’t help,” Wash says. “People with that sort of power tend to figure it out. Better he learns some control now, rather than struggling later on. Teenagers have pretty impressive mood swings.”

“Oh god, teenagers with mystical powers,” Tucker groans. “How did the Jedi order cope?”

“They took kids when they were younger than that. A Force sensitive teenager would never have been able to become a Jedi. Too volatile, not enough control. Easier to train younger children to control their emotions.” The flatness of Wash’s voice is what catches Tucker’s attention more even than the words. He meets Wash’s eyes, but his expression is distant. he’s staring at Junior as though seeing someone else, or some other time. A long time ago, and very far away.

“You seem to know a lot about the Jedi,” Tucker says, unable to stop himself from pushing.

“I told you, I lived on Coruscant.” 

“Yeah, you mentioned.” There’s a suspicion forming in Tucker’s mind. The Jedi are dead, that’s well known, at least to the people who believe that they ever existed. The stories about the massacre had spread far and wide. But some people must have worked with them. Senators, staff, people who contracted them. Maybe Wash left Coruscant for more reasons than just dislike of the Empire.

Wash gives a tight smile and nods. “I’ll get Epsilon to find you some meditation instructions. There should be some basic ones on the network. Nothing in depth, just things that work to steady a disordered mind.”

“Right, you picked all of this up just living on Coruscant,” Tucker says, and this time he’s not even trying to hide the incredulity.

“I picked up a lot of things, living on Coruscant,” Wash says. “Help yourself to caf and food.” He doesn’t wait for Tucker to reply before he leaves the room to head back up to the bridge.

Tucker sighs. There’s a thread unravelling in his mind that says that he’s somehow become embroiled in something much bigger than he’s prepared for. He keeps picking at the frayed ends of the thought, trying to tease some sort of revelation out of it. What should he do? 

He wants Junior to be safe. That’s his priority. But how does he do that, when he knows nothing about how to deal with these powers that Junior has, that only seem to be getting stronger. And what happens when Junior gets older, gets that teenage volatility? Tucker knows that he’d been a real brat at times, mood swings coupled with the dawning realisation of just how unfair the universe was. He’d lashed out.

What happens if Junior lashes out?

It’s too much to process in one go. Instead he pushes himself to his feet and goes over to the counter. “So, what do you want for breakfast kiddo?”

—————

Interlude

“You were screaming again, Wash.”

Wash stares up at the flickering blue light which resolves itself into the shape of a human wearing robes and brings a lump of homesickness to Wash’s throat.

“Epsilon?”

“Pffff, who else is it gonna be?”

“Yeah,” Wash says quietly. “Yeah, I know. There is no-one else.”

“Oh for- you’re a dramatic idiot even when you’re barely conscious.” 

There’s silence for a moment, before Epsilon speaks again. “Nightmares huh? Must’ve been a bad one.”

Wash scrubs a hand through his sweaty hair where it’s plastered to his forehead. “There was fire. Alarms. Blood.”

“There’s always blood. The fire is just in your head though. Didn’t happen like that.”

“Didn’t it?” His memory is so fuzzy, blocks of recollection slotted jaggedly together, like a puzzle with mismatched pieces.

“No. Not to you,” Epsilon replies. 

Epsilon doesn’t usually sound like that, concerned. He’s the one who’s always there with a joke or an insult, enough to drag Wash out of whatever his brain is doing.

“Right. You’re right. I remember now.”

“Liar,” Epsilon says. “You know where we are?”

He has to think about it for a moment before he gives a hesitant nod. “Yeah. On the ship.”

“Yep. We’ll be at Kylex station in a few hours. Then you can ditch the Father-of-the-Year and his kid and I bet your nightmares will clear right up.”

Wash grimaces. Right. Tucker and Junior. He’s meant to be dropping them off. That’s what they’ve paid for. The thought doesn’t sit well with him. Letting them go off alone, when Junior is… it makes him uncomfortable.

“Oh no, you’ve got that look,” Epsilon says.

“What- what look?”

“That look! The one that says you’re having a really stupid idea and I think I can guess it and no. The answer is no. No way. Nu-uh.”

If Wash lets him go on, then he’ll start repeating it in every language that he knows, which, considering he is an AI, is quite a few. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Wash replies. 

“They’ve got into your head,” Epsilon says. “Dug right in.”

“You’re talking shit, Epsilon.”

“You wouldn’t be having nightmares like this if they hadn’t had some effect. I get it. I do. The kid is the kind of age you were when-“

“Shut up, Epsilon.”

“I’m just saying. You never did get the hang of eschewing attachments.”

“I never got the hang of a lot of things. It doesn’t matter now anyway.”

“What you’re planning is really dumb. it’s dangerous. Three people is way more of a target than one so it’s safer-“

“Not for them.” He looks over at Epsilon’s blue hologram again. “It’s not safer for them. And Junior is just a kid.”

Epsilon’s hologram seems to slump. 

“Yeah, he is.”

—————

“Rise and shine people! Kylex station is our next stop. We have approval and will be docking in about half an hour.”

“Does he have to be so chirpy?” Tucker groans. He clutches the mug of caf between his hands. He hadn’t realised how early it was. Or late. He isn’t sure about the time difference, he just knows that he hasn’t had nearly enough sleep to listen to Epsilon be this cheerful.

Wash seems much more awake, despite the dark circles around his eyes, like he’s adjusted to the ship’s own bubble of time and nothing outside of it can affect him. “He knows it annoys you.”

“Great. A computer has a grudge against him.” He finishes off the caf and picks up the empty plates. There’s a thrum of nerves beginning to build inside him. The future is heading towards him at top speed and he knows he can’t get out of the way before it hits him. 

“What kind of a place is Kylex station?” he asks.  
“It’s an outer world station. Busier than Erus. Lots of people transfer here.”

“Yeah, but… what’s it like? Is it safe? Is it rich or poor? Dirty? What kind of food can I get there?”

“It’s not the greatest place. Every station has its criminal underworld. But it only has a minor Imperial presence. It’s too out of the way for them to care that much. And there’s plenty of people will take on passengers. I’ll help you find someone reputable.”

Tucker smiles at him. “Thanks Wash. I appreciate it. You’ve done way more than you needed to. We’ll be out of your hair.”

“You haven’t been a bother,” Wash says quickly. “I was thinking…”

[Attention. Ship Registration XV-735, you are cleared to dock. Please begin docking procedures.]

Wash sighs. “I have to go sort that out. Epsilon might sass them and that never goes well for anyone involved.”

The sputter from Epsilon over the speakers makes Tucker laugh, and even Wash cracks a smile as he heads out.

Their bags are nearly packed, all their worldly possessions shoved into a couple of duffles. It looks pitiful, that that’s everything they have now. Two bags and whatever credits are left in his account. Only the necessities. He misses the drawer full of Junior’s baby clothes. They don’t fit him anymore, but Tucker misses them anyway. The memories. 

Okay, he is not losing himself to this again. He’d had a little sniffle last night after Junior was asleep. He’s just glad that Junior seems to be taking everything a lot better than he is.

They’re probably heading for a major breakdown in a few weeks, when the terror wears off.

Speaking of Junior, he seems quiet. He’s sitting on Tucker’s bunk, feet dangling and kicking idly. He looks… well, he looks miserable.

Tucker reaches out to nudge his shoulder. “What’s up buddy?”

Junior looks around at the room and lets out a sigh like all of the trouble in the universe has been heaped on his shoulders.

“We have to go, okay? We can’t just rely on Wash’s kindness. He has jobs. We have to find somewhere to call home.”

His son doesn’t seem convinced. There’s a frown on his lips, and he looks one wrong word away from crying. It breaks his heart.

Tucker sits down next to him, and tucks him up against his side. “I know it’s hard. But we’ll find somewhere, I promise.”

Junior shakes his head, and twists his fingers into the covers. it’s more than not wanting to leave, Tucker realises with a start. Something else.

He slides his fingers beneath Junior’s chin and tilts his head up. “C’mon. Something’s wrong, isn’t it?”

Junior gives a short nod. 

“Okay. Something on the ship?”

He shakes his head. That’s not surprising. Junior seems to have loved it here.

“Something out on the station?”

A nod.

“Just nerves?”

A shake. Tucker glances nervously at the door.

“There’s something bad there, isn’t there?”

Junior nods.

One day, Junior had done everything he could to skip school. Tucker had thought that it was just the kid acting up. Maybe he’d fallen out with a friend. Maybe he hadn’t done his reading homework. By the time Tucker had got him dressed and fed him and dragged him to school, half the day was gone. The teacher had given him a look of disapproval. He remembers that starkly, because the next thing she’d told him was that Junior had missed the Imperial envoy who had come to speak to the children.

He hasn’t ignored any of Junior’s hunches since then.

As if on cue, Epsilon’s hologram appears. “You need to grab your things,” he says without preamble.

“What’s wrong?” Tucker asks. He keeps his arm around Junior.

“We were wrong. The Empire is here. They want to inspect the ship.”

——————

“Don’t come out until Epsilon gives you the all clear,” Wash says. He waits for Tucker’s nod and then slides the panel shut, leaving Tucker and Junior in darkness. Tucker draws Junior against his side, holding him still.

The hidden room is cramped as hell, probably used for transporting contraband rather than people. He hopes they aren’t stuck here for long. It’s already making him feel claustrophobic. The air smells musty, stale, like the cubby hasn’t been used for a while and that makes things worse somehow. What happens if Wash gets arrested? Will him and Junior just be stuck here until he gets back? If he gets back?

What if the Empire commandeers the ship? It isn’t unheard of.

What if they’re found?

For a long time, he doesn’t hear anything. It’s far enough from the bay doors that no-one should really pass by here unless they’re really looking hard. 

Please don’t let them look hard.

There’s movement outside, the click of boots on the metal floor. Tucker jolts at the unexpected sound. He holds his breath. Junior shifts against him and Tucker’s grip on him tightens.

 _Don’t move, don’t make a sound_. He tries to project it to Junior, as though he can hear Tucker’s thoughts. Who knows, maybe he can. It seems to work. Junior goes very still.

Tucker doesn’t know how they haven’t been found yet. His breath seems loud enough to wake the dead. It fills the room at a counterpoint to the hammering of his heart.

He promises himself, that no matter what happens, he won’t let go of Junior.

There’s the sound of crates being moved, screeching as they’re dragged across the floor. Is that the crates near them? The space distorts the sound enough that he can’t tell. 

The darkness makes shapes in his mind, flickering in the corner of his eye. A ball of light, a shadow creeping along the wall, creeping beasts that scuttle out of the corner.

He squeezes his eyes shut. It’s just his eyes playing tricks on him. There’s nothing there. Nothing at all.

Him and Junior are the only real things in the universe.

After an hour, two? A day? He doesn’t know, can’t tell anymore. It might have been a minute. After too long, the panel concealing their hidden hole screeches and moves.

Tucker presses Junior into the corner and crouches in front of him, shielding him from view. He won’t let them take him without a fight. Junior is his son! And he would rather die than let him be taken.

He holds his breath. Light filters in through the crack, the beam getting wider and wider.

“You okay?”

It’s Wash’s voice, and Tucker falls onto his hands and knees, letting out a slow breath. He feels shaky now, the shock of adrenaline dissipating and leaving him weak, like his bones have been removed.

“Is it safe?” His voice comes out raspy.

“They’re gone,” Wash replies. “They inspected the ship. Epsilon spoofed the identity. They’ve gone for now.”

For now. “I thought you said it only had a minor Imperial presence?”

Wash offers him a hand to help him crawl out of the cubby hole. His hand is warm and scarred. Tucker lets go as though he’s been burnt, and turns to help Junior out. His son clings to him until Tucker hefts him into his arms, cradling him against his chest. Junior’s arms twine around his neck.

“I thought there was,” Wash says. He sounds apologetic. And hey, the guy had hidden them. he could have turned them in. He hadn’t. “There wasn’t last time I was here. That was only a few weeks ago. i didn’t think-“ He shakes his head. “The Empire is getting more aggressive in taking territory it seems.”

“Fuck.” That doesn’t sound good. If the Empire is spreading out, it’s going to be even harder to find somewhere to hide out.

“One way of putting it,” Wash says. He chews on his lip and then, “I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you to leave.”

Tucker gives him a sharp look. “Look, you’ve done more than enough. I appreciate it but we agreed I’d leave here. I don’t want to inconvenience you.”

“You wouldn’t be,” Wash says quickly. “You’d be welcome. It’s been… pleasant, having you both aboard.”

He raises an eyebrow at Wash. “Are you offering me a place to stay?”

“I-“

The sound of footsteps comes again.

Wash whips around, and, to Tucker’s surprise, puts himself at the front, between them and the Imperial officer who rounds the corner. 

“Sir I-“ The officer’s eyes narrow, his hand twitching towards the blaster at his hip. “You said you were travelling without passengers. Care to explain?”

Tucker hugs Junior close to him. Worry flickers through him. It’s one thing to hide them, and another to outright lie to the Empire when they’re right there. Wash could just be rid of them with a word and that thought chokes him.

“I was picking up passengers,” Wash says. “No law against that is there?”

“That was fast,” the officer says.

He’s young. Can’t be more than Tucker’s age. But there’s a nasty look in his eye. Ambition twisted into the desire to get ahead by any means, even if other people suffer for it.

“I work quickly,” Wash says.

“If they’re legitimate you’ll have no problem showing their papers then.”

He knows. Of course he knows. It can’t have been more than ten minutes since they’d finished the inspection. Stupid stupid. Why had they been so stupid as to come out so early?

Junior wriggles in his arms, and Tucker pats his back, trying to calm him. His gaze darts around the room, searching, searching for an escape. Can he make it to the stairs in time if the blaster is drawn? Can Junior manage to slip past if Tucker causes enough of a distraction? 

Would Junior be able to survive out there, alone? There had to be kind people in the universe, didn’t there? But these are dark times and he doesn’t know how much kindness is left? Certainly the Empire seems to lack it.

He ignores the tugging on his shirt and backs away a step, but the officer sees it and suddenly there’s a blaster aimed at them. Sickness rolls in his stomach. Dread creeps through his veins. He’s seen blasters before, in ports and government buildings sometimes, but never like this, up close, where he can see the black barrel and would be able to smell the plasma if it was fired. Assuming he survived of course.

Wash is still there though, between them. He stands there like it’s normal, like he’s used to putting himself between people and blasters. He’s not threatening, but he looks planted there, steady in a way that is reassuring despite the situation.

“Of course,” Wash says. “Why don’t you put the blaster down?”

“I will when you give me their names and papers. They look awfully like a couple we’ve had reports of, who caused problems on some backwater world.”

Oh shit. Shit shit shit. The news has spread. Maybe they’re just seeking him for the fight right now, or maybe they’ve figured something out? Had Junior slipped up and caught someone’s attention? There’s too many questions filling his head, making every second last an hour, stretched out knife-thin and fragile.

In front of him, Wash moves. For a second Tucker thinks that’s it. Wash has decided that it’s more trouble than it’s worth to keep them there. Offering a place to stay is all very well when they aren’t being accosted by Imperial goons. But now?  
But Wash doesn’t move away. He plants himself more firmly in front of Tucker and Junior, his feet spread and rooted to the ground. He draws himself up taller. It’s a small movement. It would have been barely noticeable if Tucker hadn’t been so focused on every movement right now. But somehow it changes everything. Wash’s presence seems so much bigger, washing over him. He feels Junior tense up in his arms, go still and still. It should be terrifying, but all Tucker feels in this moment is a sense of deep calm.

“You want to put the blaster down,” Wash says. His voice is smooth and even and deep. Deep as the ocean that Tucker had seen once, where the water dipped from grey-blue to black and fathomless.

“I want to put the blaster down.” 

Tucker jolts when the officer speaks. There’s something wrong with his voice. It sounds weirdly flat, like he’s been hollowed out, leaving just a shell. And then he lowers the blaster and puts it back in the holster. He moves slowly, like he’s in a daze. The hair at the back of Tucker’s neck raises.

“Wash…” he manages to get out. What’s going on? He doesn’t understand what’s happening.

Wash holds up a hand to silence him, and Tucker bites off whatever words he’d been about to say. But the blaster isn’t pointing at them now. That’s something right?

“These are my passengers. You’ve seen their papers.”

“These are your passengers. I’ve seen their papers.”

It’s chilling. The officer’s face has slackened into a blank mask, and his eyes are unfocussed as he parrots Wash’s words back at him. It shouldn’t work. But the officer doesn’t question it. He doesn’t seem capable of disagreeing.

He thinks back to Wash talking about Coruscant, about the Jedi, about teenagers with powers and children taken from their families to train. He thinks about stories and rumours and propaganda. 

“You can leave now,” Wash says.

“I can leave now.”

And on cue, the officer turns on his heel and walks away stiffly. 

Once he’s out of sight, Wash moves, and it’s like a spell has been broken. Tucker sucks in what feels like the first breath he’s taken since the officer arrived. 

“What the hell was that?” he asks hoarsely.

Wash doesn’t respond. He heads over to the wall and slams the button to close and lock down the hold. When that’s done, he turns around and leans against the wall, head tilted back against it. He’s breathing heavily, chest rising and falling quickly. It’s a stark contrast to how he was only a moment ago, a fountain of calm and stability.

“Epsilon,” he says finally, “keep an eye on things. We’re leaving as soon as I’ve dropped off the cargo.”

“Got it,” Epsilon replies over the speakers. Even he sounds unusually subdued.

Junior squirms and Tucker stoops to let him down. As soon as he does, Junior rushes over to Wash and tugs on his hand until Wash looks down and offers a weak smile.

“I never was much good with the mind-fuck stuff,” Wash says quietly, but loud enough that Tucker knows that he was supposed to hear it. He looks up at meets Tucker’s gaze.

“He won’t come back.”

“What did you do to him?” Tucker asks.

Wash shrugs one shoulder. “Made him believe what I wanted him to.”

“Is he-“ He doesn’t know what he wants to ask. Is he okay? Is he still him?

And why the fuck does he care when the asshole had drawn a blaster on him and his son?

“He’ll be fine. A bit of a headache maybe, but he’ll believe that he did his job, we get to leave without being hassled. Everyone’s happy.”

“You don’t look very happy.”

Wash scrubs a hand over his face. He looks exhausted, above and beyond the normal level of exhaustion. “I’m out of practice. I never liked that kind of thing.”

“You’re a Jedi.” The words slot into place in Tucker’s mind, and come out with a tone of near reverence. He should have guessed, but it seemed such an impossible thing. Maybe part of him really had believed that they were all gone, left to dust and the history books.

“Barely,” Wash says. He smiles wryly. “It was a surprise to everyone that I passed the trials and was named a Jedi at all.”

Tucker shakes his head. “Well, you seemed to have a pretty good grasp on what you were doing. You saved us.”

“Of course I did.”

“You didn’t have to do that.”

“Do you believe in fate?”

“What?” Tucker says, confused by the sudden change of topic. “Not really. Shit happens. There’s no meaning to it.”

“I do,” Wash replies. “You know, I never intended to stop off at Erus. It was pure chance. I stopped off to avoid a solar storm. If I’d been travelling even a few hours later, I would never have been there.”

“So?”

“I think the Force gave me a nudge in your direction. And when it nudges… you don’t ignore it.”

Tucker shivers. He doesn’t know what to make of that, but it feels portentous. After experiencing what Wash had done, the idea of the Force moving people seems much easier to believe. “I don’t know anything about that. But I’m grateful for whatever brought you to Erus.”

Without Wash, what would have happened to them? He might have lost Junior before they’d even got off planet.

“I can help you if you want to leave here. And I understand if you do. But if you don’t then my offer is still open. You can stay on the ship and I’ll do my best to find you a place where you can be safe.”

He’d considered it hadn’t he? He doesn’t want to be an imposition. And he hadn’t quite trusted Wash, even after he’d hidden them. But now?

He looks at Junior who has grabbed Wash’s hand and is looking at him as though he’s shining like the sun. He thinks of drinking caf in the mess while Epsilon bitches about flight paths and being overworked, and about Junior’s glee when he’d been able to move those spoons.

This station had been a bust. Who knew how many other places would be the same. How far could the Empire expand before it was finally satisfied? And here is the offer of a home where hopefully they can outrun anything that comes after them. Junior might get to feel safe.

“What do you think Junior?” Tucker asks. “Do you want to stay here?”

Junior’s eyes are wide, and his smile nearly splits his face as he gives an eager nod.

Tucker grins back and looks at Wash. “Guess that’s your answer then. We’d like to stay.”

Wash looks about really to collapse with relief. 

“Then let me be the first to welcome you abroad the _Freelancer_.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Aileron](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14874861) by [idcishipit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/idcishipit/pseuds/idcishipit)




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